Inferior County Histories in one volume, generally 8vo, are always worth buying if they can be got for a few pence, as is often the case, for there are very few of them which are not worth as many shillings at the least. Topographical works are now being inquired for to a much greater extent than was the case several years ago, and the booksellers can dispose of almost any quantity. Such examples as are likely to be casually met with are, however, very small game; yet they represent the average amount of success likely to be achieved at one time in these days of widespread knowledge. The demand for book rarities is very great, and every hole and corner, likely and unlikely, is periodically ransacked by booksellers' "jackals," to say nothing of the army of amateurs ever on the look-out for bargains. Accident is, however, productive of occasional successes, and every man has, or may have, if he thinks proper to put it to the test, an equal chance.
In addition to the ready-made bargains, which do more than anything else to delight the heart of the book lover and encourage him to further exertions, there is such a thing as playing upon popular likes and dislikes, or, in other words, speculating on the vagaries of fashion. At present the rage is for original editions of modern authors, principally those with plates, coloured or uncoloured. Some day the fashion will change, and books hitherto neglected will suddenly take their place and increase many times in value. Such books should be bought while they are cheap, and they doubtless would be if there was such a thing as a literary barometer capable of forecasting the state of the market; but there is not, and it is impossible to foretell the direction in which the mass of book lovers will turn when once they are tired of picture-books.
Every bookseller is of necessity a speculator, for it is his business to buy at a low price and to sell at a higher. The amateur, however, should, if he would preserve his title, abstain from traffic of this kind and be satisfied to pay for the privilege of forming a library without regard to the ultimate profit or loss. His pleasure should consist in acquisition and the opportunity afforded of fondling his store while there is time, for he may be absolutely certain that the whole assortment—bookcases, shelves, and all—will find their way to the auctioneer directly he has done with them. This mournful prospect has been the indirect means of founding a new school, that of the semi-amateurs, which, while claiming for itself all the attributes of the book lover, has, nevertheless, an eye to the main chance, and is prepared at a moment's notice to transfer an entire collection inter vivos if the required sum be forthcoming. As an ardent Waltonian would regard a brother of the angle who went a-fishing with the object of selling his catch, so the old-fashioned bibliophile views this degenerate school—that is to say, with unfeigned disgust. It makes no difference, nay, if anything it is an aggravation, that the culprit is "well up" in his subject and knows a book when he sees one. "Fancy!" says a member of the old academy, "here is an educated man who for years has occupied his leisure hours in studies the most delightful, and among friends the most courteous and refined. He knows them, can put his hand upon any in the dark, and yet——;" but here the power of words fails to describe the heartless greed which alone could send a row of life's companions to the block. Nevertheless this is being done every day, and, however vexed the respectable book lover may be, the fact remains that the new school is just now showing remarkable activity and is running the booksellers very close indeed. The advisability of purchasing depends upon the answer to a single question, "Will this book go up?" Never mind the author, or a syllable of what he wrote, but take especial care to see that the work is perfect, clean, and uncut, and then ask yourself this solitary question. This is the first and last commandment of the semi-amateur, whose method of procedure it may be interesting to analyse.
Let us suppose that a London publisher advertises a new edition of some famous work, tastefully got up and luxuriously bound and illustrated. The issue of course is limited, as the price is high, and discriminating purchasers must be tempted. The old-fashioned amateur is not to be charmed because he persuades himself that there is plenty of time, and what matter if a few years later he has to pay a slightly enhanced price? The book will be worth it, for it will be scarce, and, moreover, have attained a respectable degree of antiquity, and so he passes it by. Not so the new school, which we will assume has answered its solitary question in the affirmative. The edition is snapped up in a moment, and single members will buy as many duplicates as they can afford to invest in—buy to sell again ultimately, and in the meantime to gloat over, like so many jackdaws eying a secreted heap of stolen goods. This is commonly called "cornering" an edition; and when several persons possessing the same opinions and the same tastes join their forces, it will readily be perceived that if a book will not go up of its own accord it may readily be forced up by judicious retention and self-denial. This, of course, is nothing more nor less than Stock-Exchange speculation, and it is satisfactory to find that sometimes the greedy purchaser makes a mistake and is saddled with a small stock of waste-paper.
As previously stated in the fifth chapter, a book which has perhaps been cornered as often as any other, and never successfully, is Ottley's Italian School of Design, on large paper, with proof impressions. The published price was £25 4s., the present value is about £3 by auction. Here is a dreadful falling off, and the adherents of the new school have never yet been able to understand the reason, or to cease persuading themselves that the day must surely come when the book will go up. If anything, however, it is going down, and in the opinion of many experts it can never again take a respectable position in the market.
Another book which has also been speculated in, and with even more disastrous results still, is Hogarth's Works, from the original plates, restored by Heath, and published by Baldwin and Cradock, in 1822, at £50. This is a large and sumptuous work, with a secret pocket at the end, in which are, or should be, found the three suppressed plates. The present auction value is not much more than £4, and, judging from appearances, it is very unlikely to get any higher. How many people have burned their fingers over these two tempting works it would be very difficult even to guess; suffice it to say, that the amateur speculator often has half-a-dozen of each on his shelves, and in nine cases out of ten he finds them an encumbrance and a loss. As John Hill Burton truly says, "No good comes of gentlemen amateurs buying and selling". This is, of course, as it should be; but rejoicing at the fate of the enemy is likely to be turned into gall when it is discovered that defeat is bolstered up with the inevitable axiom "Better luck next time".
It cannot be denied that, from a practical everyday stand-point, the collector who buys to sell has everything in his favour. Why should he not employ his knowledge to advantage? why be compelled to stock his library at a loss which will fall chiefly on his immediate descendants? why suffer the pain and mortification of ever remembering that after all his books are only lent to him on hire, and that as others have parted with the identical volumes before, so he must also part with them in his turn? The pleasure of possession is mixed with an alloy which is disquieting to the man who loves his books too well. Still, after all, there is one pleasure which the votaries of the new school can never hope to enjoy, and that is the communion with old friends. Their books are strangers, and even though they should learn them by heart, they would be strangers still. The remembrance of happy hours spent with a lost volume is to them as nothing compared with the ringing metal which replaces it; or to put the case as pleasantly as possible, we will say that the speculator regards a book as possessing an interest quite apart from its literary or domestic value. How such an one would hunger after the treasures secured by an eager collector at a fishmonger's shop in Hungerford Market some fifty years ago—"Autograph signatures of Godolphin, Sunderland, Ashley, Lauderdale, Ministers of James II., accounts of the Exchequer Office signed by Henry VII. and Henry VIII., wardrobe accounts of Queen Anne, secret service accounts marked with the 'E. G.' of Nell Gwynne, a treatise on the Eucharist in the boyish hand of Edward VI., and a disquisition on the Order of the Garter, in the scholarly writing of Elizabeth," all of which, as Mr. Rogers Rees narrates, had been included in waste-paper cleared out of Somerset House at £7 a ton.